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IN PRAISE OF WAR 



IN PRAISE OF WAR 



MILITARY AND SEA VERSE 



BY 

DON C. SEITZ 




HARPER y BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 



/^ 






Thanks are due to Messrs. Harper & Brothers, 
Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, The japan Maga- 
zine, The World, and The Evening World for permis- 
sion to use sundry of the verses herewith issued. 



DEC -6.f9i7 



In Praise of War 



Copyright, 191 7. by Harper & Brothers 

Printed in the United States of America 

Published November, 191 7 



©GI.A479439 



TO 

B. F. Bradbury 

LATE LIEUTENANT-COLONEL 

N.G..S. M. 

SERVANT OF THE RED CROSS 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Prelude i 

In Praise of War 3 

On the Rampart 5 

Hail Colonia 6 

The War Horses 8 

Victors of Vimy 9 

Song of the Drum 10 

Night at Gettysburg 12 

The Battery Guns 13 

Drum Drill on Horseneck 14 

Mexico 15 

Ave Aviator 16 

The Falkland Fight 17 

War and Life 18 

The Sword of Kanemoto 19 

In the Fire-hole 21 

Wireless 23 

The Typhoon 24 

A Sea Turn 26 

Yarn of the Essex 27 



PAGE 

The Burial of John Paul Jones 31 

Dirge 33 

The Sea Call 34 

The Metal Men-o'-war 35 

Light in the East 37 

At the Outer Mark 38 

Russia 39 

To Woodrow Wilson 40 

Ballad of New York Bay 41 

Non Victis! 43 

Northern Lights 44 

Get Busy! Get Busy! Get Busy! 46 

Burdens 48 

Liberty Alight 49 

Dies Ir^e S^ 



PRELUDE 

In brazen splendor the armies come 
'Mid blare of bugle and crash of drum; 
With waving banners of stripes and bars 
And promise of Glory that goes with wars- 
Glory that dwells in a winding sheet 
And corpses litter'd at the War God's feet! 



IN PRAISE OF WAR 



IN PRAISE OF WAR 

The dullards dream of a peaceful sloth 
While they fatten on soil and sea, 

But the world bred life in crashing strife 
'Mongst men like you and me! 

For war began 'twixt man and man 
Where the Dragon's teeth were sown; 

From clod to sword they leapt at the word 
When Jason threw the stone! 

Did we come forth from the teeming earth 

To delve and toil and sow, 
To tame our lives to dwell in hives. 

Or to batter the road we go? 

Loud as the drum the answer rings: 

We're here to fight and win, 
Where victors greet the foe's defeat 

And peace is a weakling's sin! 

[3] 



What matters it how the blood is spilled 

Or who by the wayside falls? 
The War Gods drink at the Styx's brink 

When Pluto's trumpet calls! 

No fluttering doves in the curdling sky 

Can cool the blood of men 
Who test their strength by going the length 

When the Sword beats down the Pen! 

The weak grow strong and the strong grow weak 

In the wrestling ring of war; 
It calls the brave to the early grave. 

It glows in its avatar! 



t4l 



ON THE RAMPART 

I SAW the soldier stand on the rampart: 
Silently, swiftly, he signaled the rescuing host, 
wiieered the beleaguered with news of the on- 
coming army, 
Then fell crumpled and bloody, found by the far- 
searching bullet 
Aimed by some sharp-shooter hidden and distant. 
Boldly another arose tall on the rampart, 
Waved, too, the signals, completing the message! 
So on the ramparts of life men fall and men follow. 
Each waving his message, struggling, completing! 



[si 



HAIL COLONIA 

Ho! Ancient Isles of Britain, 
Where freedom stands arrayed 

Against the trampling tyrant. 
Hold fast and unafraid! 

Your sons have heard the summons 
To rouse themselves from ease; 

They rally to your banners 
Across the Seven Seas! 

From tropic clime and arctic snow 

The loyal legions come 
Who hear afar the call to war, 

The round-world beat of drum! 

New bulwarks of Britannia, 
Guards of her seas and lands, 

To stand or fall together 

Grasping our brothers' hands. 
[6] 



The meteor flag of England 

Must more terrific glow. 
No sun shall set on Britain yet, 

Though stormier winds may blow! 



t7l 



THE WAR HORSES 

O PIROUETTING, prancing steeds 

That dance so lightly in the forefront of war; 

Arched of neck, and flowing mane and tail, with 
nostrils distended, 

Thrilled by the bugle and drum like those who 
come after; 

Marching on to the end, to victory or to disaster! 

O steeds of chestnut and sorrel, 

Fearless of flame or of cannon and musket; 

Once frolicking foals of the field, bred in the deli- 
cate grasses, 

Now iron-hoofed, bit-champing chargers. 

Trampling the slain, once, too, in the cradle, 

Wrapped in linen and laces, cooing, caressing! 



[8] 



VICTORS OF VIMY 

Cheers for thee, O tall Canadians! 
Erect as the ever-green spruce-trees, 
Strong as the withes of oak and birch sprouts, 
Light in your step as the bark canoe 
Skimming the waves of Lake Nipigon; 
Swift as the red deer, brave as the grizzly. 
Lithe like the panther — lean, too, and tawny; 
Impetuous as the north wind over Saskatchewan, 
Driving all foes before in resistless advancing. 
O valorous victors of Vimy, 
To you on the hilltop 
Lift we our cheers! 



9] 



SONG OF THE DRUM 

I STIR the blood with my rubadub 

And cheer the victors on; 
I share my Hfe with the squealing fife 

In battles lost and won! 

I thrill the brave and I fill the grave 

And raise the cry "to arms!" 
The drum's the thing with the saber's ring 

To lift up war's alarms! 

I ease the load on the weary road 

And tingle tramping toes; 
I call the roll for the cannon's toll. 

Whether for friends or foes! 

I spell defeat as I sound retreat 

On fields with carnage red; 
I play the tune to a bloody rune — 

The requiem of the dead! 
f lol 



To the bugle's call as the colors fall 

I add the rat-tat's play. 
When the sun goes down with murky frown 

To end the soldier's day! 

For a thousand years of hopes and fears 

The drum has led the way; 
It rouses the old, the young, the bold, 

And nerves men for the fray! 



[II 



NIGHT AT GETTYSBURG 

By day Golgotha sleeps, but when night comes 
The armies rally to the beating drums; 
Columns are formed and banners wave 
O'er legions summoned from the grave. 
The wheat-field waves with reddened grain 
And the wounded wail and writhe in pain. 
The hard-held Bloody Angle drips anew 
And Pickett charges with a ghostly crew, 
While where the road to the village turns 
Stands the tall shadow of old John Burns! 



[12] 



THE BATTERY GUNS 

Glints of steel, with the guns awheel 

Fast down the dusty road! 
The caissons jolt as the horses bolt 

Away with their lurching load! 

Ho! Death sits near to the cannoneer 
Who rides with shot and shell; 

To face the foe the batteries go 
In the battle's raging hell! 

Up with the guns, the order runs; 

Take heed who bar the way. 
Sure is the mark — when cannon bark 

The war dogs are at bay! 

Red is the field in its harvest yield 
Where the grapes of wrath are pressed. 

It's do and die or turn and fly 
When the guns stand six abreast! 

[13 1 



DRUM DRILL ON HORSENECK 

Across the valley on the Horseneck Hill the drums 

are beating; 
The air is still and vibrant with the thrill of the 

wild music, 
Rousing fierce memories of the long ago, 
Of redcoat horsemen on the Old Post Road, 
And farm lads knitted in the battle line, 
While Putnam's ghost rides dowiji the steps again! 



14 



MEXICO 

The vultures circling Montezuma's halls 
Await the victims whom the Despot calls. 
The blood-stained Aztec altars blaze anew 
To light the rnurder of the Patriot few! 
Mockery of Freedom! They die in vain 
Who seek to free their country from its chain! 
Such curse laid Cortez on this luckless land, 
The blighting menace of the iron hand, 
Till Eagle and Serpent in fierce embrace 
Shall end the turmoil of the Toltec race! 



[IS 



AVE AVIATOR 

I HAD this vision on a starlit night: 
Standing alone upon the mountain-top 
When from the valley where camp-fires blazed 
An aviator rose, birdlike and graceful, 
Dropping beneath the cumbering clay of earth 
Until he passed the level of the peak 
And came into the radiance of the heavens; 
Then from the cliffs roar'd an outpouring 
Of shot and shrapnel, glowing in the gloom, 
In briUiant lighting of the upper air 
Through which the wing'd warrior moved 
Like Sindbad's Roc, replying to the fire. 
High he flew, higher followed the shrapnel 
Until it found him, darkening his flight. 
The wreck of plane and engine fell to land, 
But not the airman, for to him 
The golden path to glory opened wide, 
Paved with the tender sheen of moonbeams, 
Over which he strode, deathless, immortal, 
Into the company of all the heroes! 
[i61 



THE FALKLAND FIGHT 

Gone are the ways of the well-fought ship, 

And of pike and cutlass free, 
Where the muzzles meet in the fighting fleet 

Broadside on the rolling sea! 

Yard-arm and yard-arm no more interlock 

In the grip of the ocean fray, 
For the sea dogs bark at their distant mark 

Two leagues and a half away! 

No glory here in the long-range reach — 

No Blake's or Nelson's fame — 
But screeching yells of the lyddite shells 

And death in their yellow flame! 



[17] 



WAR AND LIFE 

We take no heed as we tramp the fields 
Of the tribes in turf and grass; 

The busy ants and the beetles brown 
We crush as we idly pass. 

Yet moan to the Gods of War and Hate 

When men in a battle fall 
Who pay the price in blood and life 

For the evil deeds of all! 



[i8] 



THE SWORD OF KANEMOTO 

Slender sword with shark-skin hilt, 
Scabbard decked in lacquered gilt, 
Forged of steel in the long ago 
By the master-smith Kanemoto. 

Five hundred years has it held its edge, 
Guarding with honor every pledge, 
Loved by its owners, kept with care. 
Treasured like a jewel rare. 

Clean is the blade as the soul of him 
Who bore it first in the ages dim; 
Unfit to live unless fit to die. 
This the code of the Samurai. 

Gift to a friend in friendly trust 
Never to let it grime with rust, 
Or to turn its blade against the hand 
Who gave it, or 'gainst his noble land! 

[19] 



It gleams like a ray from the distant stars, 
A flashing flame from the planet Mars, 
True to all friends and strong to the foe — 
Honorable Sword of Kanemoto! 



[20] 



IN THE FIRE-HOLE 

The captain's fine in his coat of blue 
The mate is big and handsome too, 
But of the hundreds in the crew, 
It's the coohes who make her go! 

Eight hours off and four hours on, 
Shovehng coal till the voyage is done. 
Stirring the flame till the race is won — 
Sweat the coolies who make her go! 

Not even a name on the ship's pay-roll, 
Only a number to take its toll. 
Just small mites in the human whole — 
Naked coolies who make her go! 

No hint above of what's below, 
Keeping alive the fiery glow. 
Driving the engines fast or slow — 
Yellow coolies who make her go! 
[2il 



Tumble *em up from the hell in the hold; 
See how they shiver out in the cold — 
Eyes like a cat's and faces of gold — 
These the coolies who make her go! 



[22] 



WIRELESS 

Mysteries are more on sea than shore: 

So now to the wireless hark; 
Buzzing Hke bees in angry seas, 

It speeds to the given mark. 

Out of the blight of the darkest night 

It feels its distant way, 
Finding its ship in the deepest dip 

Amid the ocean's spray. 

The sea sends its ghosts in misty hosts 

To frighten the lands away; 
St. Elmo's fires and words without wires 

In the storm and lightnings play. 

Perhaps lost souls that seek their goals 

Go bearing o'er the foam 
The searching spark in its world-wide arc 

That brings the message home! 



23] 



THE TYPHOON 

Rotten ship with a Chinese crew, 
Engine weak and a broken screw, 
Headed across the Yellow Sea — 
Hell of a place fr a man to be! 

Sky of copper and sea of brass, 
Breathless until the death winds pass. 
Air stands still in the tropic noon — 
This the path of the dread typhoon! 

Somewhere north of Luzon's strand 
Rises this wind with awful hand 
To smite the ships in the Yellow Sea, 
Sending poor souls to eternity! 

With a rush of foam and frightful blare, 
Storm clouds blacken the noonday flare; 
The waves shoot upward toward the sky 
And torn craft on their beam ends lie! 

[24] 



Boiler loose and her stack askew, 
Masts both gone and most of the crew; 
Lucky to float and see the day 
We who've been in the Typhoon's way! 

In whirling gusts the gale goes by, 
WhistHng a dirge for those who die! 
But who's to care for such as we 
Who leave their lives in the Yellow Sea? 



[25] 



A SEA TURN 

This the ballad of the sailor lad 

Who sails on the slippery sea: 
It's swab and wipe to the Bo's'n's pipe. 

An' soup that's made o' the pea! 

A waif o' a man who eats from a pan 

Full o' beans an' ebony beef, 
Who sleeps in a hole like a blink-eyed mole 

An' ends his days on a reef! 

It's pull an' haul to the Bo's'n's call, 

With curses an' kicks between, 
An' come an' go with a bifF an' a blow, 

Is life on the ocean's sheen! 

Old Neptune's a guy you'd better not try 

To fool if you want to live long. 
He'll shiver your timbers an' break you to flinders 

In spite o' the sailor-man's song! 

[26] 



YARN OF THE ESSEX 

Old Salem — *' peaceful" in the Hebrew tongue- 
Belied its name when Salem old was young. 
Her seamen knew the buccaneers 
And manned the waspish privateers; 
Sought strange cargoes, ventured far, 
Carrying spices and rare attar. 
Setting their sails for the Isle of France, 
Fighting and trading as fell the chance, 
Working their way with Yankee loads 
To godowns in the Canton roads. 
Scornful of ease, eager for fight, 
Certain always their cause was right! 
Prayed on the land, fought on sea. 
Jealous warders of Liberty! 
No wind so ill but blew them fair, 
No deed too bold for them to share! 
In the year ninety-eight John Crapaud 
Treated himself to an embargo 
Barring the sea to the English race, 
Shutting the door in Salem's face, 

[27] 



Without as much as sHl vous plait 

The Frenchmen get in Salem's way: 

Frog-eating sons of parlez-vous, 

Who d'ye think's afraid of you? 

Day of wrath and judgment too 

For the careless sons of parlez-vous. 

Salem, aflame, a ship will give 

In which her country's fame shall live. 

Quick comes the cash, the will and deed 

To fill a share of the nation's need. 

Shipwrights rally and hammers ring, 

While lowing kine the timbers bring: 

Hickory from the Hampshire dells. 

Cedar and oak from the Essex fells. 

Whispering pines and hackmatack 

That shade the rippling Merrimac. 

The creaking axles bear the mast, 

Drawn by strong oxen girded fast. 

Marked with King's arrows in days of Kings, 

Measuring years by the hundred rings. 

Decked with garlands of green and rose, 

The big stick to the ship-yard goes. 

Now she's together on the stocks, 

Ready for the launching blocks. 

Smartest and tautest of warship rigs 

[28] 



Fashioned and built by Enos Briggs, 

Mild *' Deacon" Briggs in his Sunday pew — 

Something different driving a crew! 

Made like a watch from truck to wheel, 

Copper-fastened from deck to keel. 

Whip-sawed plank and adz-trimmed spars — 

Planed from ribs to capstan bars! 

Essex her name as she deftly glides 

Into the meeting of the tides: 

Fine and famous launching day 

When the Essex goes on her ocean way! 

Stately and proud she leaves the land, 

Edward Preble in command: 

Braver Captain and better ship 

Never went on a trial trip. 

Hear her guns through the growing years 

Bark at the Bashaw of Tangiers, 

Taming the Corsairs of Sallee, 

Widening the pathway of the sea! 

Flaunting the flag in foreign eyes 

Under Mediterranean skies. 

First to bear the bannered bars 

Beneath the cross of Southern stars; 

Rounding Good Hope and then the Horn 

To show the world a navy born 

[29] 



Fearless and free on every wave, 
Meeting the bravest of the brave! 
Startling the Kings of the Cannibal Isles, 
Winning from Queens their dusky smiles. 
Finding Haven at Marquesa 
And Fate in Valparaiso Bay. 
Cornered and caught by two to one — 
Not conquered till her duty's done! 
Breeding a Farragut for Mobile Bay — 
A second Porter for a later day! 



[30 



THE BURIAL OF JOHN PAUL JONES 



(For six years the Commodore's body remained in a 
hallway at the Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland, 
awaiting the erection of the Chapel designed as a fitting 
tomb!) 

The publication of this poem in Harper's Weekly produced 
proper action. 



Under a stairway, back in the hall. 
Waiting to hear his country's call, 
Coffin'd in lead — a bundle of bones — 
Lies what is left of the great Paul Jones! 

Found in its tomb by the merest chance, 
Borne with acclaim from the land of France 
Brought with the pride of a Nation's guest 
To sleep forever in splendid rest 

Here in the school where his trade is taught, 
Where the lads learn how a battle's fought 
And how a hero's reward is paid 
In promises broken ere they're made! 

[31] 



First to the air he tossed the stars, 
The glorious flag with crimson bars — 
Who steer'd the Ranger across the sea, 
Beating the British to make us free. 

Deep in his debt is this selfish land 
Which pays the bill with a grudging hand, 
So bear him back to the rough North Sea 
Where the chalk cliffs rise against the lea. 

Red are the waves where the Richard sank 
Deep on the edge of the Doggerbank; 
Here is a grave made ready to hand 
Better and braver than one on land. 

A couple of shot, a canvas shroud, 
A little thunder of cannon loud: 
The thing is over; secure in Fame, 
He needs no stone to mark his name! 



Lucky the Captains who heard the hail 
And went to the depths in fight or gale, 
Never neglected back in a hall, ■ 
Awaiting in vain their country's call! 
l32] 



DIRGE 

Lightly part, 

O waves of the sea! 
Make way for the Maine, 

Who Cometh to thee! 

Whisper winds 

To the ghosts of the brave 
Who follow their ship 

To her ocean grave! 

Rust and rest 

Where the galleons lie 
In the crystal depths 

'Neath the summer sky! 



[33] 



THE SEA CALL 

O driving gale 

And restless, roaring sea 
Calling, calling, calling 

Forever calling me! 



[34 



THE METAL MEN-O'-WAR 



(The U, S. sloop-of-war Portsmouth will be sold for 
junk. — Nezvs item.) 



No more the sails are spread, 
But now there come instead 
Fortresses of brass and steel, 
Moved by the whirling wheel. 

Men-o'-War no longer creep 
Through the mazes of the deep, 
Manning yards and backing sails, 
Bursting foam and burying rails. 

Button's press and lightning's flow 
Tell the way the warships go; 
Submarines beneath the sea 
Lead a life of mystery. 

Ten-mile range, not gun to gun, 

Is the modern way the battle's run; 

[35] 



Port to port will never meet 
In the fighting of the fleet. 

The teleseme and the fire-tower 
Now direct the martial power; 
Cutlass blades are out of use 
And wireless feeds the firing fuse. 

Soon we'll sit upon the shore 
And guide by switch the battle's roar- 
Waging warfare by machine, 
Keeping hands and faces clean! 



36 



LIGHT IN THE EAST 

When the evening sun drops low, 
Shrouded in the farewell glow, 
Leaving night to take its place 
While it lights the yellow race, 
Greater light it takes along 
To th nighty yellow throng. 
FreC' >m on its westward way 
Cuts the cords in Far Cathay! 



1 37 



AT THE OUTER MARK 

This is "The Shippe of Fooles" — 

It floats along 

In tears, 'mid laughter and a song, 
Without a Pilot, drifting in the dark 
Beyond the Beacon at the outer mark 

Of Life's deep channel. 

*'What ship is that?" the hail. 

It is the vessel bearing those who fail 

In Earth's endeavors, 

Tugging at the sail 
Against cross-currents of the wind and tide, 
Yet in whose bodies Hope and Faith abide 

Until they fall into the whirlpool! 



38] 



RUSSIA 

Blind Giant groping toward Freedom's sun! 
What hand shall guide thee till the journey's won? 



[39l 



TO WOODROW WILSON 

"No winde makes for him that hath no intended port 
to sail unto." — Montaigne, Book II., Chap. I. 

He gains no wind who has no port in view, 
But drifteth vainly with a listless crew; 
The favoring breeze for him with firm-held helm — 
No storm or breakers can him overwhelm! 



40] 



BALLAD OF NEW YORK BAY 

An admirable tug-boat 
Hitched to a car-float 

Nav-i-gated on New York Bay, 
When a warship wide 
With thunder and pride 

Told the tug to git out o' the way. 
**Ho! master of yon tug-boat," 

The haughty captain cried, 
*'Come steer away from our vessel gay 

Lest you make us miss the tide!" 
Then the master of the tug-boat 
Hitched close up to the car-float 

And uttered a loud defi: 
"I don't care a damn if you are Uncle Sam, 

I won't git out o' the w'y! 
This here car-float an' this tug-boat 

Has the right to stay where they be. 
If we keep to starbud and you to the larbud 

There's room enough here for three!" 

[41] 



The bo's'n blowed and the tug-boat towed, 

But never an inch she shied 
Till the warship bold gave word to hold 

And wait for another tide! 



[42] 



NON VICTIS! 

"Peace without victory!" How dull it sounds 
To those who yearn for battles and the wounds 
Of war and death, the heritage of hate, 
And age-long quarrels to disturb the state! 

"Peace without victory!'' How light the words 
To those who turn the plowshares into swords, 
Trampling the growing harvests on Life's plain 
Into a bloody mire of grief and pain! 

"Peace without victory!" The message rings 
To save the Nations from the sins of Kings, 
Giving to Man the right to keep his own. 
Whether it be the desert or the sown! 

"Peace without victory!" Lo! the cause is won 
With Peace the Victor when the fight is done. 
When Might bows low, and Right resumes its 

sway 
In glorious welcome of a better day! 

[43] 



NORTHERN LIGHTS 

Somewhere north of the Pole, you know, 
Somebody runs a dynamo, 
Lighting the skies in pink and red 
After the bears have gone to bed. 

The glow comes up when the sun goes down, 
Just as the lamps light up the town. 
Putting to blush the moon and stars 
With the play of its rosy, radiant bars 

Whoever runs this dynamo, 
White or black or Esquimau, 
Has us beat on this mundane sphere 
Painting up the atmosphere! 

He's headquarters for wave and watt, 
Squeezing the juice in some polar spot. 
Hiding the plant in the ice and snow — 
The busy, whizzing dynamo! 
[44l 



Perhaps us chaps in the engine-room, 
When we throw a switch to break the gloom. 
We steal but a bit from the dynamo 
Hidden away in the ice and snow! 



[45 



GET BUSY! GET BUSY! GET BUSY! 

There'll be plenty to sing of the rattle and ring 
Of saber and scabbard and battle's grim hazard, 
But here is a rune to fit any tune, 
That should reach every ear, far off and near: 
Get busy! Get busy! Get busy! 

There'll be plenty of thrill in the trumpet's loud 

trill 
For those who may come to the beat of the 

drum, 
Who will rally to fight for freedom and right; 
But work has a call, 'tis a tocsin for all: 
Get busy! Get busy! Get busy! 

Now's the time for a show at the shovel and 

hoe, 
To fatten the field and brace up the yield 
Till two blades appear where one did last year; 
But it cannot be done if you loaf in the sun: 
Get busy! Get busy! Get busy! 

[46] 



More than powder or shot is the fruit of the lot 

And if all do their share there'll be foodstuff 
to spare, 

With enough, if you please, for our friends over- 
seas; 

So all bear a hand and stir up the land: 
Get busy! Get busy! Get busy! 



[47"] 



BURDENS 

The man cried to the Heavens: 
"I am sick of my burdens!" 
The kind gods replied: 
*'We will free you." 
Then fell from his shoulders 
The wearisome, chafing loads. 
Freed, he leapt forth, exulting and prancing, 
And cried again to the Heavens: 
"Give me something to lift!'* 



[48] 



LIBERTY ALIGHT 

She gives but half a welcome, when shrouded in 
the night, 

To those who cross the ocean in search of Free- 
dom's Hght. 

The tiny spark in her lifted hand is but a glow- 
worm's gleam; 

Let's set a blaze like the dazzling sun with the 
help of arc and steam! 

Too long has she stood in darkness — too long in 
midnight drear — 

Let's light the sky about her as bright as the day- 
time clear! 

ye who play with the lightning and kilowatts, 
wires and ohms, 

Brighten the New World's threshold for these 
who come to our homes, 

From the mire of war and murder, away from 
quarrels of Kings, 

To the land of light and liberty — the land of 
Better Things! 

[49] 



They who cross the ocean in search of Freedom's 

star 
Shall find it blazing brightly inside the harbor bar 
In the gloom of night the welcome shall shine like 

the orb of day 
And they who look for Freedom will know they 

have found the way! 



[50 



DIES IR^ 

Hasten, O Lord, the dreadful day 
When the Kings of Earth shall stand 

Below Thy feet at the judgment seat, 
With the People on either hand! 

The People, who through the myriad years 
Have limped 'neath load and chain, 

Whose tears and blood in purple flood 
Will not have flowed in vain! 

Then they who were slain in battle 

Or stood on the scaffold high 
May call for grace before Thy face, 

Where the Kings in the dust shall lie! 



THE END 



